


HONK

by RedRumRaver



Category: Untitled Goose Game (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Goose-typical violence, M/M, Quote: Honk (Untitled Goose Game), Soulmate Goose of Enforcement (sort of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-18 07:27:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21840490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedRumRaver/pseuds/RedRumRaver
Summary: It was a beautiful morning in the peaceful little village. The songbirds sang, the gardener gardened, the tidy neighbour tidied, and the sun rose in an ominous shade of orange, the colour of a goose’s beak. A malevolent HONK echoed across the up to then peaceful landscape, announcing the arrival of yet another day of feathers and fear. The messy neighbour, still fast asleep and safe in her bed, shivered and pulled the blankets over her head to hide as long as possible. The goose, undaunted, waddled from its lair, ready to wreck havoc. Its task for today was to get these two idiots to kiss by any means necessary.
Relationships: Tidy Neighbour/Gardener
Comments: 5
Kudos: 52
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	HONK

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tornadox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tornadox/gifts).



It was a beautiful morning in the peaceful little village. The songbirds sang, the gardener gardened, the tidy neighbour tidied, and the sun rose in an ominous shade of orange, the colour of a goose’s beak. A malevolent HONK echoed across the up to then peaceful landscape, announcing the arrival of yet another day of feathers and fear. The messy neighbour, still fast asleep and safe in her bed, shivered and pulled the blankets over her head to hide as long as possible. The goose, undaunted, waddled from its lair, ready to wreck havoc. Its task for today was to get these two idiots to kiss by any means necessary. 

Webbed feet rose and fell empathically as the goose made its way towards the village. The gardener was already up and busily tending his vegetables, presumably in an attempt to get as much work done as possible before the feathered demon descended. He’d forgotten his little radio outside the fence again - it was sitting beside the gate, in easy reach of any passing beak. With an evil glint in its eye, the goose stabbed its beak at the power button, blasting sudden loud music through the peaceful morning. Then it grabbed the radio and waddled away, carrying its prize. 

The gardener jumped at the sudden noise, then cursed himself. He really should have remembered to take his radio inside before sunrise, but it was so hard to remember anything lately when he never got enough sleep. Even his dreams were haunted by white feathers, an elongated neck and endless mischief. Still cursing, he unlocked the gate that failed to protect his garden and went outside to look for the feathery fiend. Following the noise, he found his radio under the bench by the lake, turned up to the highest volume for maximum trouble. His back aching, he bent down and fished the radio out from under the wooden bench, then quickly turned it off. A sudden HONK startled him enough to almost drop the radio. 

“Shoo!” he hissed at the goose. It hissed back menacingly, flapping its wings, then turned and waddled off right into his garden. “Get out of there!” he yelled at it, but it was already halfway through his garden. And what was that it was carrying? That looked like a ring of keys. His ring of keys! Reaching back, he found his keys missing. With a sigh, the gardener chased the goose, through his garden, through the gate at the end of his garden and into the village proper. 

The shopkeeper was already at work, sweeping the street with her broom. Not so easily intimidated, she raised her broom threateningly at the honking goose. “Get out of here, you!” 

HONK HONK HONK!

The goose darted in and pinched the shopkeeper’s leg. “Ow!” she yelped, hopping back. She pushed her broom forwards in an attempt to ward the goose off, but the webbed terror had already passed on through the next gate. 

Panting, the gardener bent over with his hands on his knees and tried to catch his breath. “Have you seen my keys?” he asked. “The goose, where did it drop them?”

“Oh geez, I don’t know,” the shopkeeper replied, scowling. She didn’t have time for this. She needed to get her wares set up and hopefully sell some things before that winged troublemaker returned and messed everything up again. “Just look around, they’re bound to be somewhere.”

Groaning because of his bad back, the gardener bent over to look under the bench, then peered behind the trash can, under the shopkeeper’s table, inside the phone booth and every blasted place he could think of. “I’ll wring that goose’s neck if I ever catch it,” he muttered. 

“Shh, it’ll hear you,” the shopkeeper warned. She’d finished setting up and was leaning on her broom, watching the gardener’s futile search. She knew he’d never see those keys again. If the goose once took something out of your sight, there was no way short of a trip to hell of getting it back. 

HONK! 

As if summoned by the mention of its name, the horrible goose returned at full speed, carrying a fancy pipe in its orange beak. The tidy neighbour was puffing after it, running as fast as he could with his slippers. The goose ducked low and dived through between the gardener’s legs, continuing on its way with barely a second lost. The tidy neighbour however couldn’t stop so fast and bumping into the startled gardener at full speed. Their lips met and they crashed to the ground in a tangle. There they lay, a mockery of intimacy, their limbs entwined and their heads ringing. 

“What the-?” the gardener exclaimed, slightly dizzy from hitting his head. 

The tidy neighbour, who had landed on top and thus fallen soft, recovered his wits faster. “The goose stole my pipe! That’s the fifth one this week,” he complained. He didn’t however get up just yet. The villagers had learned many things through the days and days of dealing with the feathered terrorist. One of those things was that if it tricked you into kissing someone, you’d do well to stay in physical contact with them until the goose left your line of sight. Once it had brought two people together, it usually left, allowing everyone a short break. 

HONK HONK

This honk sounded triumphant. Mission accomplished, the goose threw one last mocking honk back at its victims as it waddled away with its prize. Passing through the garden, it carried the pipe to its little pond and woods, to be buried next to the other five pipes, the dozen golden bells, the fiftythree shoes and the heap of keys. Another successful day in the life of a horrible goose. Another unwilling pair of stupid humans brought together. Another trophy claimed. 

All was well in the little village. The birds sang. The gardener and the tidy neighbour sat together, comparing bruises. The sun shone yellow and innocent and the goose slept, resting for an afternoon of fear and feathers. 

HONK!


End file.
